Never Let Go
by dcat8888
Summary: Yet another missing scene from 'If You Could See'


Never Let Go

by dcat

Hardcastle and McCormick and all their friends don't belong to me.

This again, is another missing scene from the episode 'If You Could See.' Like I've said before, I can never get enough of this episode. And I was also pleasantly surprised by my 'hit' total for my story 'Everything Happens For A Reason'…which deals with the same episode, and I figured you guys might enjoy yet another perspective, since you've obviously liked that one quite a lot. And so, thanks for reading!

I also heard a song today called Never Let Go by the David Crowder Band and thought it sort of fit.

OOOOO

Milt stood off to the side of the hospital waiting room. He'd been offered coffee, water, soda, virtually anything that those close to him could offer as some sort of odd comfort. He refused it all, choosing rather the solitude of his own thoughts. Every so often he'd head over to the nursing station of the emergency room and ask about McCormick's condition and every time he'd received the same answer. _He was still being accessed._

Accessed, what the hell did that mean exactly, accessed, like he was some sort of inanimate object? The statement made Hardcastle shudder with the coldness that had tempered the entire day. He'd let go of his visible anger hours ago when he let out his physical rage against Dex Falcon, with a right forearm to his head. If Frank Harper hadn't pulled him off, there was no telling what else might have happened. Since then his anger and rage had turned to fear, remorse and regret.

He knew he could control his anger and his rage, but his fear, this fear he now wore like a heavy robe and it was quick to cover every inch of him, nearly smothering him. He had no control over it.

He didn't want to talk to anyone. Well, there was one person he wished he could speak with, but right now, circumstances made it impossible.

Milton C. Hardcastle appreciated the concern his friends showed for him. He knew if he needed comfort and care that there would be a multitude of people who would be at his side in a moments notice. Word had traveled fast this morning as all sorts of colleagues, acquaintances and friends turned out for him. Offering words of encouragement and endless cups of coffee, anything, they'd repeated time and time again. Anything for him. Anything for McCormick.

He knew they all meant well, hell, they all meant _more_ than well. He afforded himself a moment to count his many blessings, this outpouring sign of friendship being the most heartfelt.

But he wanted to be alone. No, he needed to be alone. There was something sticking on the back of his mind. And with all kinds of people around, he was prevented from bringing it to his forefront.

He turned down Frank Harper's latest offer at a beverage of choice. Frank accepted his decline with grace, waited a few extra seconds and then told him that he had to head back to the police department. Harper added an apology to the end and put his hand on Milt's back. Hardcastle could tell his back tensed up from the touch. He didn't want that.

He was grateful for it, but that was not what he needed at the present moment.

Within forty-five minutes a doctor came out and informed him that McCormick was going up to surgery. He was still touch and go. The prognosis was grim.

A couple of other police officers came up to him after that and gave him that same sort of pat on the back, only this time it was on his arm and he bristled at the touch.

As he headed up to the surgical waiting area, Charlie Friedman met up with him and walked down the hall along side of him. Milt let out a deep breath.

"Listen Charlie, don't offer up any coffee or pity. I'm already well over the limit," Milt said as they waited for an elevator.

That brought a sad sort of smile to Charlie's face. He didn't expect anything less from his old friend. "I wasn't going to do either Milt."

"Well, you must have something to say?"

"I won't lie to you, word travels fast around here. I heard about Mark and came down as soon as I could. The surgeon who's doing the operation is our best Milt. Mark's in very good hands," Charlie explained.

"That's good to know, but he shouldn't be in there in the first place," Milt gruffed back.

Charlie was used to his slight abrasiveness of Hardcastle and it didn't deter him in the slightest. "I'd offer to sit with you, but I bet that falls under the category of pity. I won't even shake your hand or give you a pat on the back. You know where my office is if you want me."

Friedman didn't expect a response and none came. Milt got off the elevator and found the next waiting room. That thing, that thing he couldn't put his arms around was still camped out on his mind. He took a seat for just a few minutes, until a few more of his friends came and went like all the others already had.

He went back to standing.

When she came in he didn't know exactly. If she had been down in the ER, he couldn't recall. But she must have been. Where else would she go? Again, for now he was more than content to keep his back to the rest of the room. Milt didn't know when he actually turned around to see her. She sat off in the opposite corner from where he stood.

He pursed his lips. They were the only two there. Now would be the time.

He brushed his hand over his mouth and swallowed hard, then taking the necessary steps over toward her to close the distance.

"Millie?"

She looked up, "Yes Judge?"

"Did you want anything? Coffee or something?" There it was the same stupid offer that everyone else had made.

Her response was no surprise. "No," she politely smiled. "I want the same thing you want."

Now he felt obligated to take the seat beside her. Why not? This was the right time to say something to her. They were in the room alone. No one else would hear.

"Millie?" he tentatively began again.

"Yes Judge?"

"Uh, um, these pictures you see?" He stopped and let it hang as a question.

She tilted her head every so slightly, not quite understanding his question. "I'm not sure what you're asking Judge."

The Judge opened his mouth to speak, but held back, then purposefully closed his eyes, blinked a few times and then finally blurted out, "Have you had anymore?"

"Any more?"

"Yeah," he said, with a slight irritation to his voice from the fact he had to try to explain himself. "Have you seen what happens next?"

"Do you mean, do I know if Mark is going to pull through?" she asked.

He nodded solemnly.

"I've already told you that. I told you what I saw."

Hardcastle wasn't willing to give in to her visions. "But he's alive, he was alive out there and he was alive when we brought him into the hospital. You thought he was going to die. Maybe your vision isn't done."

"I haven't seen anything else Judge, I'm sorry." Now it was she that turned away from him.

Milt cleared his throat and sat back in the chair. "I think _I_ have." There, he had admitted it out loud, the thing that had been on his mind the whole entire time. Slowly Millie's head turned back to look him straight in the eye. Neither one of them moved. "I don't know if it's one of your types of visions or just my over-tired mind. But it's so real. I really _see_ it." He stopped talking, paused long and hard and then added, "He's gonna live."

Millie didn't question him or what he saw. She merely reached over and put her hand on top of his.

They sat like that for what was close to several hours.

The surgeon finally came out and told them that McCormick had made it through the surgery, but that his condition was critical. They both allowed themselves a brief moment to relax.

"You should go home Millie. It's been a long day, you must be exhausted," Hardcastle said.

There was that pleasant smile of hers again, which he returned back. "What about you?"

His response was entirely typical. "Me? Nah, I'm not going anywhere, I couldn't sleep even if I wanted too. I'll stay here all night, maybe they'll let me in his room later. I have to. I want to make sure I see that picture."

The End.


End file.
